Extinction Edge (The Extinction Cycle Book 2)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The American military had shared the recipe for VariantX9H9 with their European allies, but the strike on foreign soil had come days after the US operation. Kate hoped it hadn’t been too late to save her parents living in Italy.

  Exhaling a sigh, she continued through the hexagonal campus. The white domed buildings rose above her. She wasn’t sure where she was headed; her thoughts were muddied with guilt and regrets. They drifted from Javier, her brother, to her mentor, Dr. Michael Allen. They’d been dead before the missiles descended on Atlanta and Chicago, but if they hadn’t…they would have died from VariantX9H9. From her bioweapon.

  Kate choked on the thought.

  She didn’t fight the tears that streaked down her cheeks. Everyone had a breaking point, a moment where everything came crashing down. Kate had finally reached hers.

  There was only one person left in the world who could make her feel better, and he was in the medical building nearby. For the first time that morning, Kate felt a sudden burst of energy. She finally knew where she was going.

  Staff Sergeant Alex Riley couldn’t believe his luck. He’d built a career on his speed and ability to sneak in and out of some of the most secure locations in the world. Now he lay in a hospital bed, staring at his shattered legs and wondering if he would ever run again.

  If it weren’t for Beckham and Horn, he would never have made it off that rooftop. Then again, he would never have made it out of Building 8 at San Nicholas Island without them, either. What were the odds?

  Riley let out a sad laugh.

  The noise woke Horn and Beckham. They stirred in stiff-looking chairs facing the foot of his bed.

  “Feeling better?” Beckham asked.

  Riley eyed his casts. “I’m happy to be alive. But my legs, man.”

  “They’ll heal,” Beckham said.

  “I thought you were toast, kid,” Horn said, his voice scratchy.

  “Me too,” Beckham said.

  “Shit. It’s going to take a lot more than some crazed shithead to take me out.” Riley laughed. “I would have been fine without you guys.”

  Horn rolled his eyes. “Right. You had the situation under complete control.”

  “Damn straight,” Riley said.

  The three men chuckled. It was the first time in weeks that they all had a good laugh. It was like old times, but they knew that things would never be the same.

  A rap on the door pulled them back to the grim reality of the status quo, where old times were nothing but memories. Kate waited outside, waving from the other side of the small window in the door.

  “Beckham, it’s your girlfriend,” Riley said, jerking his chin toward Kate.

  Beckham shot him an angry glare but didn’t speak. His narrowed dark eyes were enough to silence Riley. He knew what Beckham was thinking: Keep your trap shut or you’re going to stay in that bed even longer.

  “It’s open,” Horn mumbled, scooting his chair to the side.

  “Morning,” Kate said.

  Riley picked up a hint of sadness in her soft voice. He watched her walk into the room and stand a few feet away from Beckham. The shadows of the dimly lit space couldn’t conceal her swollen, red eyes. It wasn’t surprising, Riley thought, considering she had killed most of the world’s population.

  “How are you doing, Alex?” Kate asked. She hardly made eye contact with the men.

  Riley forced a smile. He wasn’t used to people calling him by his first name. “I’m feeling much better. The pain meds here are killer.”

  Kate nodded. “You can thank Colonel Gibson for that.”

  “How’s that piece of shit doing?” Horn asked.

  “He’s awaiting trial,” Kate said. “I noticed Lieutenant Colonel Jensen posted another guard outside his room. Must be worried about the man’s safety.”

  Beckham stood and stretched. “I would be too, if I were him.”

  “There aren’t enough soldiers on this island to protect Gibson from what’s comin’ to him.” Horn snorted.

  Riley shuddered. His friends were right. The colonel was partially responsible for the end of the world. He had earned a spot at the top of the biggest assholes in the history of the human species list.

  “Any developments?” Beckham asked.

  Kate shook her head. “Not really. We have reports coming in from Europe that VariantX9H9 has destroyed around ninety percent of those infected with the Hemorrhage Virus.”

  “And the ones it didn’t work on?” Beckham asked.

  Kate’s brittle voice cracked. “Variants.”

  “How many do you think there are worldwide?” Riley asked.

  Kate rubbed her forehead. “The last projections I put together were from old numbers, but that’s all we have to go with. I estimate about seventy-five to eighty percent of the world’s population has been infected with the Hemorrhage Virus.”

  Silence washed over them. No one spoke. Riley did the math in his head—if five and a half billion people had been infected and now ten percent of them were Variants…

  “Holy shit,” Riley said. “550 million Variants? There’s one of those things for every three human survivors.” He let out a low whistle.

  Kate cupped her hands over her head. “You don’t need to remind me.”

  “Sorry,” Riley said. He reached for a pillow and propped it behind his back, wincing in pain.

  “You did what you had to do, Kate,” Beckham said. He stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “You saved the human race.”

  Kate glanced up, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I stalled the inevitable.”

  “What’s that mean?” Riley asked. “We all know the world will never be the same. But even after we kill all of those things, we’ll still have people left to rebuild. Society, the economy, food production.”

  Riley searched Kate's face for an answer, but she pivoted away to stare out the window. She parted the blinds with a finger, letting the sun leak through. “The human race might be the next species on the extinction list after all,” she said with her back to Riley, Horn, and Beckham.

  Sandra Hickman and Ralph Benzing looked exhausted. They sat in front of a wall of communication equipment in the command center, quietly skimming the channels for intel.

  Lieutenant Colonel Ray Jensen paced behind them anxiously. Both communication officers were in the twelfth hour of their shift, and he could tell that the coffee was finally starting to wear off.

  Chatter was coming in from around the country. Jensen hadn’t even started filtering the info streaming in from Europe. There was so much to process, but his priority was Plum Island and keeping his people safe. And there was also a larger mission, a mission that central command was still piecing together.

  “Here we go,” Benzing said, cupping his hands over his headset. “I’m picking something up.”

  Jensen chewed the inside of his lip. The phantom taste of tobacco made his stomach growl. Four days without it and he was already going through withdrawals. Digging into his pocket, he felt for a piece of chewing gum.

  “Patch it over the speakers,” Jensen said, preparing himself for the worst. He’d never been much of a deep thinker; taking things too seriously caused unnecessary stress. Now that he was acting commander of one of humanity’s last strongholds, all of that had changed. The fate of so many rested in his hands. Every single soul on the island was invaluable. Whatever command was cooking up was likely to put many of his own in harm’s way, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “It’s an automated message,” Hickman said. “I’m picking it up on several frequencies.”

  “Switching,” Benzing said. “Mine just cut out.”

  The speakers coughed static and then went silent for several seconds.

  “What happened?” Jensen asked. He leaned over Benzing’s shoulder as a voice suddenly crackled from the speakers.

  “This is General Richard Kennor broadcasting from Offutt Air Force Base. This mission might be the most important in the history of the United Stat
es military. Our species has been divided. Operation Depletion was a success, but now we face a new enemy. I have seen with my own eyes what these creatures are capable of. Our brave men and women in the armed services are vastly outnumbered. But we have something these monsters do not.” He paused for a moment and then said, “We have the weapons of the twenty-first century.”

  Goose bumps popped up on Jensen’s skin as the general’s voice grew louder. That was the effect legendary commanders had on those under their command. They could convince young men to run into enemy fire and politicians to fund wars based on lies.

  “With these weapons at our disposal, I am confident that we will retake our streets. America will once again be a free nation,” Kennor said.

  There was a break in the transmission. The general came back online a moment later. “In ninety-six hours we will embark in Operation Liberty, a massive coordinated attack that will send our remaining troops into every major city to destroy the enemy! Stand by for specific orders to be relayed to individual bases and outposts in the coming hours.”

  Jensen caught Hickman’s worried gaze. He stood strong, his arms folded. Managing his emotions was key to reassuring those under his command. With more at stake than ever before, it was imperative he retain his composure.

  Giving Hickman a strong nod, Jensen walked to the observation window. “Get Major Smith on the line. Tell him to get here ASAP. We have a war to plan.”

  Beckham shoveled a spoonful of slop into his mouth. He wasn’t even sure what he was eating. It tasted a bit like fish but had the texture of chicken. He forced the food down and looked over at Kate.

  She cringed. “What is this?”

  “Better get used to it,” Beckham said in between bites. “We’re going to be eating reserve supplies. Riley was right when he mentioned food production. The world economy has shut down, which means…”

  Kate answered with an exaggerated sigh. “No more hamburgers.”

  Beckham chuckled. “I thought you were going to say no more margaritas or something.”

  “We still have tequila,” she said with a wink.

  Beckham held his spoon in front of his lips and ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth as he studied the doctor. She wasn’t exactly his type, definitely not the kind of woman that he normally dated. When he dated, he reminded himself. The last girl he’d dated had been a yoga instructor. That ended when he walked in on her banging a college football player half his age.

  He’d have kicked the guy’s ass if he had cared enough. Beckham had always been loyal to his team first. There wasn’t a girl out there that could hang with him on a ten-mile run or three-mile swim. And that was okay. His career had taken precedence over finding a partner. His men were his family.

  But he couldn’t deny there was something about Kate. She carried herself in a graceful way. Strong, intelligent, and striking, she was the type of woman his mother would have wanted him to marry. He shook his head. There was no place for those thoughts in this new world. Everyone was dead or dying outside the safety of their little island. He refused to be the asshole that made a move on a woman at such a vulnerable time. But he couldn’t deny he was attracted to her. More than that, he cared about her. Looking at Kate made him realize, for the first time in a very long time, that he could care.

  Horn walked briskly toward their table. His eyebrows were scrunched together, his red hair sticking out in all directions like he’d been running his hands over his skull.

  “What’s wrong?” Beckham asked.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith want to see us,” Horn said. He turned to Kate. “Wants to see you, too.”

  Kate finished off her plastic cup of juice and raised a brow. “About what?”

  “Sounds like Central Command is planning something big.”

  Beckham dropped his spoon into the mush on his tray. He had known another operation was in the works. If he were in charge, he’d be planning one himself.

  Kate and Beckham stood at the same time, grabbing their trays and following Horn through the packed tables. Several uniformed men and women glanced up from their food as they walked by. For once they weren’t looking at him or Horn. They were looking at Kate.

  “There goes the savior of the world,” an African-American Marine sneered. Beckham recognized him from weeks before. He paused in his tracks and took a step back, shooting the man an angry glare.

  “You have a problem, Johnson?” Beckham asked. His nostrils flared.

  “No,” Johnson said. “Sorry.”

  Beckham nodded and held the man’s gaze for several seconds before following Kate and Horn outside. When they reached the door she leaned over and whispered, “Thank you, Master Sergeant.”

  -2-

  The horizon warned of another storm. Swollen clouds, the color of fresh bruises, crept across the skyline. Beckham needed more men—trained soldiers. He’d made the decision he should have made a long time ago. He’d obeyed every order Colonel Gibson and Lieutenant Colonel Jensen had thrown at him since Ghost arrived at Plum Island. Now it was his turn to make a request. He and Horn needed to go back to Fort Bragg to search for Horn’s family and any surviving Delta Force Operators.

  He followed Kate and Horn to Building 1 in silence, using the time to consider the situation from a tactical standpoint. The war was entering a new stage. And like any war, the problem was resources. The US military was strained. They had the firepower and the aircraft, but they lacked pilots and boots. His request to return to Bragg would likely fall on deaf ears, but he had to try.

  A streak of lightning ripped through the gray sky. The scent of rain mixed with the salt-tinged wind blowing off the ocean. It was beautiful here, but the serenity of the island was a cruel deception. He knew better than anyone just how bad things were out there. And as they reached Building 1, he had the sinking feeling that they were about to get worse.

  The minty smell of the lab replaced the salty breeze as they entered the facility. Two guards sealed the doors behind them, shutting out the distant clap of thunder.

  “This way,” Kate said, gesturing with her chin toward the hallway.

  Beckham took a sidelong glance at the windows along the left side of the passage. Scientists in CBR suits worked tirelessly on the other side. The crisp, clean facility glimmered under banks of LEDs. It was all so…clean.

  “So this is where you created the bioweapon?” Horn asked.

  Kate nodded and paused in front of a glass wall. “They’re still studying the virus.”

  Horn approached the window. “What’s the point?”

  Kate smiled politely. “The epigenetic changes that the Hemorrhage Virus—”

  “In layman’s terms,” Horn said.

  “Sorry. Before scientists mapped the human genome, they believed there were one hundred thousand or more protein-coding genes. In reality there are closer to twenty or twenty-five thousand. But approximately thirteen thousand of those genes are what we call pseudogenes. In other words, they’re protein-coding genes that we inherited from our ancestors, but they’re ‘turned off’,” she said using her fingers to trace quote marks.

  Horn dragged his sleeve across his nose. “Let me guess. VX-99 turned on a bunch of those genes.”

  “You got it,” Kate replied. “The nastiest ones, too. The ones that date back to the primordial ooze, when life was just starting. Think of parasites or spiders—that’s why we see the epigenetic changes in the Variants.”

  “And that’s what makes them violent?” Beckham asked.

  Kate focused her concentration on the lab. “These are genes dating back all the way through our evolutionary history. To a time where we were just like wild animals with predatory instincts.”

  “Like the State of Nature,” Beckham replied.

  Horn raised a brow. “Like what?”

  “Thomas Hobbes wrote about it in Leviathan in the seventeenth century. He deduced there was a time before civilization where man lived by the sword, relying on p
redatory instincts to survive.”

  Kate twisted from the window and gave Beckham an elevator-eyes look. “Didn’t know you studied philosophy.”

  “We don’t just put bullets in bad guys.”

  “I know,” Kate said. “I was…Never mind.” She turned back to the observation windows.

  Horn placed a hand on the glass, his jaw clenched. Wrinkles formed around his eyes as he squinted and then dropped his gaze to the floor. Beckham knew he was thinking of his wife and two daughters.

  A blur of motion caught Beckham’s eye. Several of the scientists moved to the center of the first chamber. They huddled around a monitor and pointed at the display. Under other circumstances, the view would have fascinated Beckham, but something about the end of the world made science seem less important to him. He had other concerns now, and two of them were right next to him.

  “We better get moving,” Kate said. “We’re already late.”

  Beckham waited for Horn to move away from the glass. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Beckham whispered in a voice low enough that Kate couldn’t hear him. “We’re going back to Fort Bragg.”

  Horn stiffened. “You serious?”

  Beckham ran a hand over his facial scruff and winked.

  “Hell yeah,” Horn said, his voice enthusiastic but reserved. He slapped Beckham on the back, and they walked side by side down the hallway.

  Beckham’s heart swelled with pride. The moment of camaraderie reminded him he had the best job in the world. His philosophy was simple: He was only as good as the man standing next to him.

  The momentary rush vanished when they entered the conference room. The weak lighting matched the darkened features on both Lieutenant Colonel Jensen and Major Smith’s faces.

  “Take a seat,” Jensen said. He gestured at the chairs across the table and rolled up both of his sleeves. “General Kennor with Central Command has issued a message to all remaining military assets across the country.”